In a Moment
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: He really ought to leave. But he would wait a moment. Sometimes all we need is a few seconds more. River Song and 11.


**In a Moment**

Sometimes, all we need is a few seconds more. 11/River

My first 11/River. Please review.

By the way, there's a bit in here about her death. I wasn't sure what happened to the body, as everyone in the library sort of disappeared physically, if that had also happened to her. So I left made it disappear after the count down. Just fyi.

-XXXXX-

This entire situation had been an accident. The result of a particularly challenging day, and a particularly upset River. Though, she would never admit it. Just as he would never admit he didn't mind being here...

He ought to move. He ought to rise and leave this bed, leave behind this blade of a woman who is curled next to him. Right this second, he should remove his hand from the billows of soft blond hair. He should stop caressing the taut, dark skin. When he leaves, he isn't going to look into the clear blue crystal orbs that will undoubtedly follow his departure. No, he should just walk out without announcement, cool and calm and perfectly collected.

That is exactly what he ought to do.

In a moment.

He's brought back to years ago and years ahead, to the sight of this same woman strapping herself to wires and electrodes, desperate to make him see, make him understand that this, _this _is the only option. He can still remember his exact thought, and its repetition-

_In a moment. Just one more moment. In a moment—_

"_Funny thing is, this means you've always known how I was going to die. All the time we've been together you knew I was coming here. The last time I saw you—the real you, the future you, I mean—you turned up on my doorstep with a new haircut and a suit. You took me to Derillium. To see the Singing Towers. Oh, what a night that was. The towers sang, and you cried. You wouldn't tell me why but I suppose you knew it was time. My time. Time to come to the Library. You even gave me your screwdriver. That should have been a clue. There's nothing you can do."_

What would he have done, if they had the time to wait? Shouted declarations of love, of adoration? Persuaded her out of it? Asked her how she, a clever and witty and mysterious professor of archaeology, happen to know his Gallifreyan name, of all things?

The time afterward, the few seconds after the initial flash, he remembers sitting, handcuffed, staring at the body of River Song for the spilt second it remained, slummed over the wires and electrodes. She was smiling. Tears, loose and free, slide down her still-warm cheeks. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

And then it was gone.

Later, Cal described the scene to him. River, in white, and all of others who had died. River, and her simulated life, her simulated children. The sweet little house, the day-to-day life, the quite, quaint style of living. She was happy, in a way.

She had refused a simulated husband. He thought he knew why.

"_Sometimes I hate you!"_

"_I know."_

At the time he wasn't sure if he wanted to meet her. Perhaps, perhaps if she was avoided, he could prevent that death. He could save her, somehow. Changes things. Rewrite time. Time could be rewritten.

"_Not those times, not one line. Don't you dare! It's okay. It's okay. It's not over for you. You'll see me again. You've got all of that to come. You and me. Time and space. You watch us run!"_

But they were a paradox. For him to live, she had to die. And River Song, in every incarnation, was set and determined to make sure he lived, even if she wasn't there to see it.

She had found him. Time and time again she had found him.

He couldn't stop running. So, she fell into step beside him.

From where he lay he had a perfect view of her clear face, blank and void of any expression. Her dark lashes made small crescent-shaped shadows against her cheek. One arm lay across her stomach, hand clenched into a fist, as though she was ready to sock the first person who woke her suddenly. The other rested bent on the pillow beside her, fingers buried in her own hair. She smelt of lilac, smoke, and pine. Her breathing was perfectly even, though slowed with sleep.

He really ought to leave. But he would wait a moment.


End file.
